


taste you on my tongue

by elusive



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Dream Pack, M/M, Swearing, the gangsey makes a brief appearance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 16:57:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5299112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elusive/pseuds/elusive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What do you want then?”<br/>Several thoughts flash through Ronan’s mind. Images, really. Kavinsky’s heaving body, Kavinsky’s hands on his skin. The bite marks on his neck and pressing fingers to them for days to get a little of that thrill back.<br/>“Let’s drive.”</p>
<p>prompt: "last night was supposed to be a one night stand but we drunkenly got each other’s names tattooed on each other’s ass cheeks so now its kind of hard to forget you"</p>
            </blockquote>





	taste you on my tongue

**Author's Note:**

> not a native english speaker so pls be gentle. enjoy!

For some reason, a house party at Kavinsky’s had seemed like a good idea the night before. Ronan’s anger was a live thing buzzing under his skin, and after tearing through the empty streets in search for some speedy release, it became obvious the only point of interest of the night was a flashy mansion in the suburbs. The curb had an impressive lineup of bright colored cars with vanity plates and more horsepower than the kids who owned them could use on the streets of Henrietta, Virginia. The music seemed to spill out like an invitation, thumping basslines to match a hectic heartbeat. 

Ronan couldn’t pass it up. He felt drawn to the party like a moth to a flame. Inside, several people called out to him, his presence either a surprise or a met expectation. He made his way through the crowd and a red cup with what seemed to be vodka got handed to him by a guy whose face he forgot in an instant. Skov spotted him from behind her makeshift DJ booth and nodded towards the kitchen, so Ronan knew where he’d find what he came for. The kitchen wasn’t as crowded, but the few who were there gathered around the table where Kavinsky was lying, pants pulled down. Ronan spit out a confused “what the fuck”, his words lost in the ambient noise. 

“Lynch!” Kavinsky yelled, voice slurred but clearly pleased by his arrival. “Just in time. What should I get tattooed on my ass?”  
“We’re doing a poll”, Prokopenko said. “So far we got asshole, shitfuck and a great big bag of dicks.”  
“What the fuck do I care?”  
“Don’t be a party pooper, princess. You can get one too when Jiang is done doing mine.”  
“Like hell I am.”  
“Proko! Make the man a drink, he needs a social lubricant.”  
Prokopenko threw a skinny arm around Ronan’s shoulders and grinned a cheshire cat grin. “How fucked do you want to get tonight, man?”  
Ronan crossed his arms and shrugged. “Surprise me.”  
Kavinsky laughed. “Good life philosophy. Jiang, surprise me. Give me a tat I’ll never forget.”  
Jiang frowned but quickly got to work. “You should be asking for a tattoo you’ll never regret, but suit yourself.”

Several drinks of questionable content later, courtesy of Prokopenko, Ronan found himself replacing Kavinsky on the kitchen table, except Jiang wasn’t the one holding the tattoo gun, it was Kavinsky. The reason why he was allowing this escaped him, but he couldn’t be bothered to care.

“Alright, fuckweasel. What are we aiming for? A skull? A car? Your undying love for Dick?”  
Prokopenko laughed so hard he threw up in the sink.  
“Shut the fuck up and keep it simple.”

*

Ronan lost count of the drinks and the time and the dull sting of the tattoo on the swell of his ass. His world was narrowed down to Skov’s electronic loops and the way his body was curling around Kavinsky’s body on the improvised dancefloor in the living room. His hands were firmly anchored to K’s hips, following the line of their movement. Kavinsky orbited around Ronan like a fucked up satellite, out of breath and wild eyed. Stumbling, they found their way upstairs in Kavinsky’s room that was dimly lit in red. It reminded Ronan of a gas station neon glow and it cast dark shadows on the sharp planes of K’s body. His clothes were sticking to his skin and his heart was hammering out of his chest, but Ronan didn’t move while Kavinsky took off his tank top and dropped on the bed with a heavy thump, not until he patted the space next to him. Ronan took off his own shirt and lied down, his smoker’s breath audible in the space between them.

“Not to break the suspense, but are you going to punch me if I put my hands on you?”  
“Probably not”, Ronan said.

Kavinsky sat up and straddled Ronan’s waist in a more fluid motion than his state should have allowed, and he let his hands wander up his body until they framed Ronan’s face. He kept eye contact for what felt like hours and Ronan’s hands were itching to pull him down, but Kavinsky found his own way to Ronan’s hungry mouth. Time stretched between them like pink bubblegum and the space of the room filled up with the warmth rolling off their bodies. Ronan left long angry lines on Kavinsky’s back and in retribution he received a litany of bite marks down his neck and collarbone. 

*

Things bleed into each other after this point like spilled ink in Ronan’s memory. The first thing he becomes instantly aware of when consciousness washes over him is the splitting headache blooming at his temples. That, or the pounding bass that makes the mattress under him shake. Then, the cold morning air seems particularly cold on his naked back. He cracks a bleary eye open only to get a startling view of Kavinsky drooling on a pillow two inches away from his face.

The first thought on his fuzzy mind is, this looks bad.

Groaning, he sits up and looks over at K who is snoring peacefully, only to discover Jiang thought it would be funny to tattoo Ronan’s name surrounded by a heart on Kavinsky’s ass. Good thing the nearest bathroom has a full length mirror for Ronan to see his own tattoo, a simple K in scratchy handwriting on his right ass cheek.

Ronan gathers his clothes and makes a quick escape without waking Kavinsky up, but downstairs Skov is still on music duty, if in a slightly rumpled state. He stares for a bit as she does her magic and the languid rhythm washes over him like molasses. She laughs in his face and sends him to Swan who is brewing coffee from behind huge sunglasses. Swan solemnly hands him a mug and a couple of aspirins. They fistbump in silence. 

*

Back at Monmouth, Gansey is wide awake and doing research on ley lines with Blue’s help, several maps spread out on the floor peppered with colorful sticky notes. Noah is sitting with his head in Blue’s lap and half of his hair is tied up in tiny blue scrunchies. All of this goes unnoticed and Gansey’s enthusiasm is briefly cut off by Ronan’s state, but Blue is so deeply amused by the sight of his hickeys, Ronan groans the entire way to his room. Several speeding tickets fly off his bedroom door when he slams it.

Ronan wakes up from a 6 hour nap to several texts.

wake up shithead

lynch you fkn animal theres blood on my sheets

im gonna burn them

u awake?

yo princess

IM GONNA KILL JIANG

…… at least we match

Ronan drops his phone on the floor and questions his entire existence. Chainsaw lands heavily on his chest and nips him with sympathy.  
“What now, bird?”  
Chainsaw does her best impression of a shrug. Ronan pets her silky head with a thumb.  
“Helpful, as always.”

*

Several days later, Ronan’s phone is discarded somewhere under his bed, drained of battery from all the texts. His tattoo has started peeling but there is no inconspicuous way of scratching it, so he just constantly bounces his leg and drums his fingers on every available surface. Eventually, Gansey cracks and asks him if there is something wrong.  
“Your face is wrong, Dick.”  
“Glad we cleared that up. Now would you stay still? You’ll spill the tea all over the journal.”  
Ronan scoffs and lounges in his seat at Nino’s. This lasts for about 5 minutes.  
“For Heaven’s sake!” Gansey lifts his hands in the air.  
“Ronan has an itch he can’t scratch” Noah quips, and it earns him a flick to the ear.  
Adam pinches the bridge of his nose.  
“I have an hour left until my shift and a latin translation to finish up. Either you keep quiet or I’ll do it in the car.”  
Ronan sits up abruptly, his chair scraping the floor.  
“I’ll go.”  
“Leaving so soon?” Blue asks him from behind the counter.  
“Bye, maggot.”

It isn’t even fully dark outside, but Ronan is hungry for the streets and the speed and the noise shutting off in his head, so he goes until he finds someone to go against. He spots a red Supra in the rearview mirror and already his engine is revving, just as hungry as he is. Jiang drives up next to him and lowers his window, throwing a careless “catch me if you can” and then he’s gone, they both are.  
Ronan has beaten every single one of Kavinsky’s pack of dogs and he’s getting a little tired of it. This time, Jiang gives him a run for his money, but the outcome is the same.  
“Eat shit, Lynch!”  
“You seem to have that covered!”  
Jiang gets out of his car perfectly composed and walks over to Ronan’s BMW, leaning into the driver’s side window.  
“How’s the tat healing up?”  
“Itches like crazy. I see Kavinsky hasn’t killed you yet.”  
Jiang laughs. “Nah, he secretly loves it. And my guess is so do you.”  
Ronan frowns and goes to close the window. Jiang lifts his hands in surrender.  
“Hey, I’m just sayin’. Once you get tired of chasing around your tail, maybe return his fucking texts before he blows up a fuse.”  
“What the hell do you care?”  
“I don’t. Not about you.”  
Jiang walks away without another word and his car is gone in a heartbeat. Ronan sits in his doubt for a good long while.

* 

It’s 5 AM and Ronan can’t or won’t sleep and Chainsaw is off on a night fly and Gansey finally fell asleep around 4, surrounded by books and his wire framed glasses still low on his nose. Ronan could use the company, but he just takes off the glasses and puts them safely on the desk before grabbing his keys and leaving quietly.  
Down in Monmouth’s parking lot, a white Mitsubishi Evo breaks the comforting monotony. Kavinsky is asleep behind the wheel, mouth open and white framed sunglasses sitting askew. Ronan knocks loudly on the window just to see Kavinsky jump out of his skin. He gets out of the car biting a curse.  
“What the fuck was that for?”  
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Ronan retorts.  
“What are you, the sleep police?”  
“What are you, twelve?”  
Kavinsky groans and hooks his sunglasses in his white tank top.  
“I’m here to fucking apologize.”  
Ronan does a double take.  
“You what now?”  
“Skov gave me a riveting lecture on consent and how I shouldn’t claim ownership of other people’s bodies, even if we fucked. Jiang offered to cover up your shitty tattoo with an actual tattoo. He’s a fucking artist, you should take him up on it.”  
Ronan has the distinct impression he is either not awake or he is high off his ass.  
“Come again?”  
Kavinsky paces around in frustration like a caged animal.  
“Don’t be a shithead and say OK so I can move on with my wounded pride.”  
“I don’t… want to cover up the tattoo.”  
“...You don’t?”  
Ronan leans on the Evo and stares down at his hands. “I’m just as surprised as you.”  
“What do you want then?”  
Several thoughts flash through Ronan’s mind. Images, really. Kavinsky’s heaving body, Kavinsky’s hands on his skin. The bite marks on his neck and pressing fingers to them for days to get a little of that thrill back.  
“Let’s drive.”  
Ronan gets in the passenger seat of the Mitsu and Kavinsky follows, pulling out of the parking lot and speeding off on the road that leads out of the city. Ronan’s heart pounds a heavy beat and his eyes linger on Kavinsky’s profile, the line of his neck. For once, he lets his hand cover K’s on the stick shift. Kavinsky frowns at him and Ronan swallows his fear.  
“Maybe this way you won’t fuck up the shift in fourth gear, asshole.”

*

Kavinsky lays on his back in the soft grass of a wood clearing, smoke trickling past his chapped lips. He opens one unfocused eye to catch Ronan trailing fingertips on the sharp edges of the Evo. The bright sunlight makes the white paintwork glow like a dream.  
“Lynch, get your greedy hands off my ride. Buy her a drink first.”  
“I can’t help it if she’s prettier than you.”  
“Take that back, shithead.”  
Ronan flashes his shark grin and sits on the hood of the Evo.  
“Come over here and make me.”  
He waves a lazy hand at Ronan, dismissing the idea of moving entirely.  
“Unless you’re too afraid to do it.”  
That springs Kavinsky into action, cigarette falling carelessly from his lips. He’s next to the car in two steps, one hand splayed on Ronan’s thinly covered chest, the other wrapped around his throat. Ronan’s back hits the hood hard. Kavinsky’s fist bunches up the black tank top.  
“I thought you never lied.”  
Ronan’s breath is coming out in sharp bursts. He shakes his head.  
“You’re an ugly fucker but your car is a dream. Literally.”  
Kavinsky gives a feral grin and tightens his hold on Ronan’s neck, just enough to feel his pulse going erratic. Then he lets him go and backs off, lighting up another joint.  
“You're so full of shit, Lynch.”  
Ronan stands up and drags Kavinsky back to him by the loops in his precariously low slung jeans. The black band of his boxers makes his skin look even paler.  
“Give me a hit.”  
Kavinsky stares at Ronan through half lidded eyes for a full minute. Then he takes a deep drag, holds Ronan’s jaw in place and blows the secondhand smoke in his wanting mouth. The small space between them feels electrified, and Ronan wants to crush it. Kavinsky laughs and it’s loud and cruel and Ronan has to shut him up, has to eat him whole.


End file.
